


In Name or in Blood

by Lenny9987



Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-02-19 21:27:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13132572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lenny9987/pseuds/Lenny9987
Summary: A Secret Santa Fic for @mibasiamille over on Tumblr.When Claire finds a sick infant abandoned in the woods, she rushes it back to the warmth and safety of Leoch. When her medical skills prove effective and the child's life is no longer at risk, she finds she wants to keep and raise the baby with Jamie.





	1. The Changeling

_The sound pulled at her heart like a tether, guiding her steps and pulling her deeper into the forest. An infant crying. Claire didn’t know where she was anymore. It was still dark. Even the light of the coming dawn couldn’t penetrate the tree-cover. She was stumbling blindly._

_There was a hand on her arm turning her away from the sound, the relentless crying._

_Jamie._

She started out of sleep. Jamie’s warmth was still pressed against her back, his arm draped over her middle and his hand not on her elbow but cupping her breast through her shift. She sighed but then heard the baby whimper in the crate they had fashioned into a cradle.

Claire slipped from under Jamie’s arm and pulled a blanket from the chair, wrapping it around her as she tiptoed across the room. He was blinking up at her, his lip twisted into a pout. She rested her hand on his forehead and sighed with relief. Neither cold nor feverish, the skin was warm from sleep and the nearby hearth.

“Are you really hungry again?” she cooed quietly as she lifted the small frail form from the crate keeping him wrapped in the blanket. She wished she had a watch because she was convinced he’d eaten every three hours since she’d gotten him back to her surgery that morning.

The kettle with the warm goat’s milk concoction she’d developed for him was ready on a stone by the hearth, the empty bottle beside it. She was getting used to handling the baby in one arm while she assembled the bottle with the other. Soon she’d carried both to the bed with her so she could lie comfortably propped against the pillows for his feeding.

It was reassuring to feel the baby relax in her arms as he settled to suckling. He’d been so rigid and cold when she’d found him. For a heartbreaking moment she had thought she was too late.

_She clutched him to her chest and cuddled him, apologizing for not getting there sooner and then she felt his weak limbs wriggle, his back arch in her arms. Opening her coat, she carried him as close to her body heat as she could, stumbling to find her way back through the woods. Each step became more desperate as she felt the baby’s life slipping away but she was hopelessly lost._

_Then Jamie’s voice called her name giving her new bearings to work with. Her feet were so cold she didn’t feel it when her toes connected with the thick root and she nearly went sprawling but Jamie caught her by the arms. The jarring movement elicited a weak cry from the baby she held and Jamie’s face went pale in the light of the full moon._

_“Are ye crazy, Claire?” he hissed. “It’s a changeling. Ye have to put it back where ye found it.”_

_“Absolutely not,” Claire gasped, horrified. “What I have to do is get him back to the castle where my things are. He won’t make it much longer if I don’t warm him up and treat him properly.”_

_“Ye can save him them?” Jamie’s tone had changed to one of wonder._

_“Not if you don’t help me get him there in time.”_

_It only took Jamie a moment longer to decide and then his arm was on her elbow and he was hurrying her along a path that only seemed visible to him._

The baby stretched and pulled his face away from the bottle then wriggled and belched quietly.

It wasn’t quiet enough to keep from waking Jamie. Claire felt his hand find her thigh through the bedclothes and begin to rub up and down.

“How’s the wee lad doin’ then?” he croaked, keeping his eyes pinched shut.

“Much better,” she whispered. “He has a ways to go in terms of putting on weight and gaining some strength, but I think he’s out of immediate danger.”

Jamie sighed and nodded then burrowed his head into her side.

“He may be out of danger, but you and I… I think ours may be just beginning. The lad’s parents will go back to look for him,” Jamie warned.

“And they’ll find an empty hollow instead of a corpse.” She set the bottle aside and lifted the baby to her shoulder, rubbing his back and feeling the heat of anger rise in her as she felt the knobs of his spine and the ripples of his ribs through the blanket.

“They may have been watching and seen ye take him. They’ll go to Father Bain and he’ll appeal to the fiscal and call it kidnapping. I dinna ken that Colum will be able to protect ye… or that he’d want to.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Only that he’s none too pleased that I wed ye. He… he has plans for my future… plans that are’na in line wi’ Dougal’s.” She felt tension rising in his body beside her.

“Well, it wasn’t kidnapping,” she attempted to reassure him. The baby was asleep again so she leaned back and slid him down to rest on her chest. His cheek was warm where it pressed against the thin fabric of her shift. “They abandoned their child to die. I’m a healer. I had an obligation to step in.”

“Aye, and ye did yer part… but I could see in yer eye earlier that ye’re no about to part wi’ the bairn.”

Her hand froze on the baby’s back, clutching him to her firmly. “I won’t give him back to people who would let him die like that, Jamie. He deserves better.”

“They did what they thought was best for him,  _mo nighean donn_ , as any parent would. Would ye punish them for their ignorance and misplaced faith? Would ye no want yer own child restored to ye if it were you?”

“And what about him? Their ignorance and misplaced faith didn’t kill him this time, but what about next time? I’ve seen enough people—enough  _children_ —die or nearly die… I promised him I would take care of him, that I wouldn’t leave him.”

Jamie rested his chin on her arm and glanced between her tear-filled eyes and the baby sleeping comfortably warm with a full belly.

“He would have died  _alone_. Scared and cold and  _alone_ —not even his mother there to hold his hand or offer warmth and comfort. I don’t care what they believe. Nothing they could do or say would make up for that.”

Jamie sighed. “Even if ye’re right, Claire… Do ye mean for us to keep him and raise him? What about… when… when we have our own bairns?” Claire’s attention whipped from the sparse head of hair inches below her chin to Jamie’s eyes, fixed on the baby’s curled fist resting on the upper swell of Claire’s breast. They had avoided the subject of children in the weeks since their hasty marriage but it was clear from the look on his face that not discussing it didn’t mean Jamie hadn’t thought about it. The naked longing she found there tore at her heart and tied her stomach in knots.

“Jamie… There wasn’t… _a lot_  of time before we married to talk… and while we did talk a lot that night at the inn… There are some things I perhaps should have told you  _before_  we wed…”

He looked up at her with a curious and wary furrow in his brow.

She closed her eyes as she continued, “Frank and I didn’t have children… but it wasn’t because we didn’t want them or didn’t…  _try_ for them…”

Jamie blinked and the furrow softened. It was too dark so far from the hearth for her to see clearly but Claire suspected Jamie’s face had gone red. He looked to the baby again, avoiding her eye.

“I see… Ye… think ye’re barren then?”

“I believe so, yes,” she whispered, ashamed and sorrowful. But then the baby wriggled and sighed in sleepy contentment and the sorrow eased. “I suggested once, to Frank, that perhaps we could adopt a child. My uncle took me in when my parents died and I can’t imagine what my life would have been like without him. To give a home and love to a child who needs it… Well… Frank wasn’t ready to give up so we set it aside for the time.”

“This wee lad doesna…” Jamie started but cut himself off, resigned. “I cannae make any promises, Sassenach. I dinna expect the law to be on our side—or anyone else, for that matter. But… I will talk to my uncle and to Ned Gowan. If the lad’s safety is in question, his life in danger…”

Jamie had fixed his attention on the baby again so he didn’t see the look in Claire’s eyes before she lifted herself enough to kiss his temple but it was still there when he turned toward her for a second kiss, warm and deep. He rested his forehead against hers for a moment while he caught his breath afterward.

“Do you think it would be bad luck to discuss what we should call him?”

He snorted. “Are ye talkin’ superstition  _now_ , Sassenach? Seems a little late and a wee bit hypocritical, no?”

She rolled her eyes as she smiled. “Very well then. Let’s hear what you have to suggest?”

“Oh no. This has all been yer doing. Ye’re the one who saved the lad. Ye’re the one should decide what to call him—but dinna get  _too_ attached to it.” He aimed to tease but its mood shifted to a somber note of warning before he finished.

“If it’s up to me, I should like to call him for my uncle—Lambert… though we can shorten it to Lamb.”

Jamie made a shrugging face and then nodded. “He almost sounds like a wee lamb bleating when he cries to be fed.” He reached up and brushed the baby’s cheek lightly with a finger.

Claire swallowed against a lump in her throat. It was the first Jamie had touched the baby.

“Why don’t ye put him back in the crate?” he suggested, his hand drifting back to her thigh. He yawned and let his head rest against the pillow again. He’d had a long day at the stables after a mostly sleepless night of searching for her in the woods and another long and trying day awaited him with the dawn.

“In a little while. I don’t want to move him too soon only to wake him in the process and have him decide he’s still hungry.”

Jamie’s head moved in what might be a nod but she wasn’t sure he’d heard a word of what she said. He looked so young when he slept.

Claire relaxed and smiled in her exhaustion and relief, the former going a long way to keep her in the grips of the latter. She was too tired to think about the fight ahead—the fight to keep and protect the child she held close. She was too tired to try denying what she felt for the man lying beside her who was willing to fight alongside her. She was too tired to stay awake for long and let the warmth of her newly forged family lull her to sleep.


	2. The Messenger

“Damn ye, lad. I thought ye had a brain between yer ears,” Colum said shaking his head and growing redder in the face with each passing moment. “But it’s clear that if ye did, it traveled further south when ye wed and bedded that sassenach wench!”

“I ken ye dinna approve, uncle, but Claire is my wife and I’ll no stand here and listen to ye speak of her that way,” Jamie snapped back. “Might I remind ye, she was more than happy to leave soon after she arrived and it was  _yer_  wish she remain and  _yer_  wish that made her healer to the Mackenzies. Twas her kind heart and skill that led her to take the action she did and a child was saved by it. She doesna regret it nor do I.”

“Only the trouble it’ll cause, eh?” Colum muttered, rolling his eyes before sighing and shuffling to his chair. “I dinna ken why I bother protecting ye when ye seem determined to throw away wi’ both hands what it is I’d save yer hide for.”

“I appreciate the safety ye’ve provided me and mine here at Leoch. I dinna mean to appear ungrateful,” Jamie said, apologetically. He had to bite his tongue to keep from continuing. He didn’t want what his uncle wanted for him. He wanted a quiet life with Claire back at Lallybroch. But he needed his uncle’s continued protection in order to have a hope of achieving that.

More comfortable now that he was seated again, Colum’s attitude grew slightly more agreeable.

“I cannae make ye any promises should the bairn’s parents come for him. It’s a matter will take some thought.”

“I mean to speak wi’ Ned about it,” Jamie told him. “He’ll ken what the law says and that doesna take superstition into as great consideration. The child was left abandoned to die in the wood and Claire brought him to safety and to health.”

“Aye, speak wi’ Ned about it and ye can speak wi’ him about other matters, like the price on yer head and how it might be lifted. He said something about ye having learned the identity of the behind the crime ye’re charged with?”

“Captain Randall, unfortunately. Not surprising but no an easy thing to prove, either.” Jamie paced to the window where his uncle had been standing earlier. It looked down into the main courtyard where a messenger reined in his horse and swinging himself down to the ground.

“It might be something the Duke of Sandringham can help ye with. He’s the influence ye need though whether he’ll agree to assisting ye is something else. Ned will have advice on that, I’m sure. Now go. I need a few minutes’ peace to come to terms with yer monstrous stupidity concerning the changeling child.”

Jamie bowed and hastened out of the room, rolling his eyes as the door closed behind him. He wasn’t looking forward to telling Claire about Colum’s reaction to the news of their intent to keep and raise the child as their own. Perhaps seeking Ned’s council first would give him some better news to share as a means of easing the disappointment.

He found Ned in the great hall conversing with the messenger from the courtyard. From the deep lines in Ned’s forehead, the news wasn’t good.

The messenger nodded to Ned before passing Jamie on his way up to Colum’s chambers.

“Ned Gowan,” Jamie said as he approached. “I’ve a few matters I need to speak with ye about.”

“Aye, Jamie lad,” Ned nodded but couldn’t quite manage a smile. “I need to review the petition of complaint with ye before I finalize it but… first I must find and speak with yer uncle Dougal. I fear the news I have for him had better come from me than Colum.”

Jamie followed Ned as he went in search of Dougal.

* * *

Claire’s arm was getting tired from the weight of the pestle in her hand. Mrs. Fitz had given her some oats to grind and mix with the goat’s milk concoction she’d been using to feed the baby but was having trouble grinding it to her satisfaction. It needed to be powder or it might be too much for Lamb’s stomach to handle. Having found something Lamb could digest, he was making quick work of reversing his malnutrition and failure to thrive. The goat’s milk concoction alone wasn’t filling him enough to keep him satiated for long. Claire hoped adding the ground oats and other grains would help to get him on a more manageable feeding schedule and—hopefully—sleeping through the night.

Rubbing the ground mixture between her thumb and forefinger, she frowned deciding it was still too gritty. As she went to lift the pestle from the table it slipped and landed in the mortar with a heavy thud that made her cringe. A moment later she heard Lamb’s thin cry having been startled from sleep.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Claire crooned as she dusted off her hands and moved to lift the baby from the nest of blankets she’d made him on the bed in the corner of her surgery. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” She pressed a kiss to his temple and settled him against her shoulder, smiling as he calmed and burrowed his face in the crook of her neck.

“Is that the Changeling child from the other night?” Geillis’ voice cried from the doorway causing Claire to jump and squeeze Lamb reflexively.

He began to cry again so Claire rubbed his back to calm him and decided the ground oats weren’t too gritty to be worth a preliminary try. She shifted him in her arms so she could reach for the kettle with his goat’s milk mixture and pour some into a bowl.

“He’s not a Changeling,” Claire reminded Geillis. She added the ground oats and stirred the mixture till it formed a thin gruel. “He’s well on his way to being a perfectly healthy little boy.”

“They’ll come lookin’ for him,” Geillis warned. She slithered through the surgery poking at the bottles on Claire’s work table and reaching to brush the inverted bundles of herbs that hung from the ceiling. The gestures were familiar and mesmerizing.

“They won’t get him,” Claire stated. “They didn’t want him before, they—”

“Ye ken that’s no true, Claire. They wanted him and still do. Though I dinna suppose there’s much good ye can fetch yerself whether ye return the child or no. If ye do, they’ll be grateful until the next time he turns sickly, and then they’ll say ye cast a spell on him. If ye don’t, they’ll say ye were a meddling witch for interfering with the exchange with the fairy folk and that ye’re goin’ to raise the Changeling child to be yer companion or familiar,” Geillis speculated. “In the first case, ye’ve time to get away, no to mention ye’re no burdened with a bairn when ye go. That’s what I would do if I were you. Give the child back and then have yer ginger laddie take ye away.”

Claire rolled her eyes for Lamb’s amusement as she settled on a stool and sat him up in her lap to start the first attempts at feeding him with a spoon.

“While I can’t say I’d expected you to be more… sentimental about motherhood given your condition,” Claire said with her full attention on getting the drippy mixture into Lamb’s mouth. “I must confess I’m a little shocked. Is there something you needed from me?”

Geillis smiled slowly. “Just yer company.” She wandered to the small bed in the corner and sat down, leaning back onto her elbows in a way that made the gentle swell of her belly more prominent. It was the first Claire had really looked at Geillis since encountering her in the forest where her attire—or lack thereof—had first exposed her condition. If Claire didn’t know about the pregnancy, she doubted she’d have noticed the subtle change. “Arthur’s been having greater issues with his digestion and it’s no exactly pleasant to be around,” Geillis confessed. “Especially not when my sense of smell is so sensitive.” She smiled and raised an eyebrow.

Claire looked away but couldn’t help the smile of amusement that came to her own lips.

She held the spoon to Lamb’s lips and rubbed a little of the mixture against them waiting for him to open his mouth and investigate. He took a little into his mouth and his eyes went wide as his tongue moved it about and tasted it. The spoonful was quickly gone and Lamb’s mouth eagerly waited open for the next bite. It was slow and messy progress as Lamb closed his mouth to swallow before the entire spoonful was safely inside but they found a rhythm to it as Claire and Geillis chatted about Claire’s store of herbs and where she’d been able to locate certain ones.

A commotion approached from the hallway. Claire set the spoon down and wiped Lamb’s mouth before rising to meet it.

“Mistress,” Angus called as he burst into the surgery followed by Rupert with a bloody forehead and Mrs. Fitz bringing up the rear in a huff as she held a damp and bloody rag in her hand. “Mistress the Mackenzie wants ye to help us with Dougal.”

Claire sensed Geillis sit up and rise from the bed in the corner as Mrs. Fitz finally reapplied the cloth to Rupert’s forehead.

“Dougal? What’s happened?”

“Word has come that his wife’s passed, God rest her,” Mrs. Fitz explained then crossed herself. Angus and Rupert mimicked the gesture.

“He’s taken it hard,” Angus explained. “He’s rantin’ and ravin’ in the great hall and he’s got his sword out attackin’ anyone comes near to try and calm him.”

“And you think I can manage that?” Claire retorted looking to the wounded Rupert. He took over holding the cloth in place from Mrs. Fitz. Claire suspected he would need stitches but it was impossible to tell at a distance with head wounds; they bled so much naturally.

“Not you so much as one of yer sedatives,” Angus eyed her.

“Yes, of course,” Claire muttered, turning to her work table, her eyes roving for the distilled valerian root. Mrs. Fitz was at her side taking Lamb from her arms as soon as she located it.

“I’ll watch the lad for ye,” Mrs. Fitz volunteered.

“He’s just been eating so he should be ready to go down for a nap shortly,” Claire instructed as she made to follow Angus and Rupert.

Geillis started to follow too but outside the door Claire turned on her abruptly and whispered, “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to come. It could upset him more. You should go home.”

Geillis’ eyes went wide. “Where else did ye think I was headed? I need to thank the goddess for answerin’ my prayers, no?”

A chill passed through Claire but Angus was calling for her to hurry so she turned away from Geillis and her mischievous smile.

* * *

“Did you ever meet her?” Claire asked as she slipped into bed that night and curled into Jamie’s chest. “Your aunt? I didn’t even know Dougal was married until today.”

“Aye,” Jamie sighed pulling Claire closer. “I fostered with him for a little over a year when I was sixteen. Most of that time was here at Leoch but we went to his estate for some of it and I met my aunt and cousins.”

“You have cousins too?”

“Dougal has three daughters but they stayed back wi’ his wife. I think two of them must be wed by now… not that that makes it easier, losin’ yer mother,” he added.

Jamie’s fingers were trailing meditatively up and down the line of her spine, the light pressure on the fabric of her shift tickling her. She was doing the same along the line of his ribs, the rough homespun of his shirt having gone soft with age and repetitive washing.

They turned to one another in the same moment, kissing softly at first.

He’d been in the hall standing behind Colum with Ned Gowan and Murtagh watching as Dougal screamed and spun about, charging at men standing behind shields keeping him penned into the center of the hall. Colum kept his glaring attention primarily on Dougal but through her a disapproving look as she poured the sedative into the bottle of whisky Angus had snatched from a table. She drifted to Jamie as Angus approached Dougal. His hand slipped into hers with a reassuring squeeze as they watched the grieving man crumple and pass out on the floor.

Whatever happened around them, they had one another now with whom to stand and share strength. Seeing what losing that did to Dougal—and there seemed no way that he and his distant wife could have shared a fraction of that bond—shook them both.

Jamie moved over Claire as she reached down and pulled her shift up around her waist, opening her legs for Jamie to settle between them. He came to her gently and they moved together slowly, seeking and finding quiet comfort in one another.

He pressed his forehead to hers as their breathing grew shallower and more rapid. “I would stay inside ye through a night like this if I could,” he whispered, his hips rocking languidly back and forth, in and out.

“Then do,” she murmured back, nipping lightly at his bottom lip. She shifted so he slipped out and then she turned onto her side, her back towards him. He caught her intention and lay beside her, his hand slipping between her legs as she arched back against him, the warm round flesh of her bare buttocks pressed to his groin. They sighed in unison as they joined were again.

It only took a few more deep strokes for Claire to shudder in Jamie’s arms and for him to hold her tight and bite her shoulder as he finished on the heels of her. They fell asleep entwined beneath the blankets. Lamb obligingly slept through the night so they remained so until dawn.


	3. The Dinner

Jamie took Claire’s hand as they approached the great hall, giving it a squeeze and turning his head slightly to look at her. She responded in kind and relaxed a little when he smiled. 

She was both nervous and anxious and would have much preferred to spend the night quietly in their rooms or even working down in the surgery but Jamie insisted she join him and she knew he was right. With Colum’s disapproval over both their marriage and their decision to adopt the changeling child as their own, they could hardly afford to forego the dinner he was holding to honor the visiting Duke of Sandringham. And Claire was aware that Jamie had additional cause for wanting her present at the dinner—he wanted her to meet the Duke.

Ned had helped Jamie fashion a petition to appeal the charges against him that had put the price on his head. If the Duke would not only take the petition to the proper authorities, but advocate for Jamie’s cause personally the chances that the petition would succeed increased tenfold and with the charges pardoned or dismissed, Jamie would be able to move freely once more. 

“I dinna ken whether or no Colum would like it better but Dougal certainly wants me to be free so I dinna grow too attached to the Mackenzie lands or the clansmen. It’s easier for me to be out of sight and out of mind when I dinna need to keep so close to the Mackenzie to preserve my safety,” Jamie had explained as they dressed for the evening. Claire had dawdled, taking extra time to feed and rock the baby to sleep before changing. 

Jamie had waited until they were leaving the kitchen—and Mrs. Fitz and wee Lambert—behind before pulling the pearl necklace from his sporran and fastening them around Claire’s neck. She had left them off for fear the baby would get hold of them. 

Claire felt Colum’s eyes drift over them as they entered the hall then latch onto the pearls at her throat. They shifted as she swallowed, uncertain whether his attention was a good omen or a bad one. Jamie beamed with pride as he led her forward to introduce her to the Duke standing near Colum at the head table to meet and mingle with the other guests. 

“Ah, my dear Mrs.  _ Fraser _ ,” the Duke greeted her weak curtsey by bowing with a flourish. “Jamie, you  _ have _ outdone yourself with your choice of bride.”

“I thank ye, yer grace,” Jamie responded making a half bow of his own. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, your grace,” Claire said, smiling broadly.

“ _ And  _ she’s  _ English _ !” the Duke crowed with genuine delight. “I take it, my dear, that you are as enamored with these Highlanders and their rugged way of life as I am—or if not, your new husband will soon have you appreciating it, I’m sure,” he chuckled.

Jamie’s answering smile was strained and his cheeks and neck flushed, which only made Claire’s now-sincere smile broader and brighter. 

“There are many aspects of life here at Leoch that I have come to appreciate in my time here,” Claire conceded. “The accident that brought me here has fortunately been an happier one than it first appeared.”

Jamie flinched and looked at Claire with a question in his gaze but the Duke didn’t notice, his attention still entirely on Claire.

“An  _ accident _ ? Well, when I chanced upon Jamie earlier today, he did hint that you had a tale to share,” the Duke pressed, eyebrows rising in invitation.

Claire glanced at Jamie briefly before demuring. “We’ll have to find one another later this evening so I can take the proper time to tell it.” She spotted Geillis eagerly watching the Duke with an oblivious Arthur at her elbow. “I wouldn’t want to prevent others from having their chance to make your acquaintance.”

“Yes, yes, my dear—you’re only too right. You and your husband will need to sit by me during dinner, then. I’ll have your tale over what promises to be a delicious pheasant. I happened by the kitchen earlier and it smelled  _ absolutely _ heavenly. If it tastes as good as it smells you must promise to introduce me to your cook so I can give her my compliments personally,” the Duke declared turning back to Colum.

“I assure ye, it will be so good as that and Mrs. Fitz will be flattered speechless if ye pay her such a compliment,” Colum responded, his low chuckle ringing with truth and good humor. 

Claire and Jamie smiled and bowed their heads before moving on and letting Colum and the Duke turn their attention to other guests. Claire relaxed as Jamie’s hand found a place at the small of her back, rubbing appreciatively.

“Ye did well, Sassenach,” he beamed. “I think we’re well on our way to the Duke agreeing to take on my petition and if the Duke is happy tonight, Colum will be happy tonight.” 

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Claire cautioned, sitting and accepting a glass of wine he grabbed for her from someone passing. “The evening isn’t over yet.”

Jamie smiled and sat with her taking a sip from his own glass.

The Duke sat near enough to them during dinner and pressed Claire for the tale she’d promised earlier. He was emphatically scandalized by her account of her Captain Randall’s behavior. 

“Why I  _ never _ ,” he exclaimed before demurring, “though I don’t know the Captain all that well  _ personally. _ His family, though, decent people. I can’t believe—not that I think  _ you _ have reason to fabricate—“

“Help!” someone called from further down the table. “He’s choking!” 

Claire was up and running to aid the distressed man before Jamie had put down his glass. He eased his way through the gathering crowd to watch as Claire turned the rotund man onto his side and slapped his back a few times. It was the fiscal though Jamie was fairly certain it hadn’t been Mistress Duncan who had called for help. He watched her as Claire forced Arthur Duncan’s mouth open and reached a finger in to try to clear his airway. Geillis hardly blinked as Claire’s efforts grew increasingly pointless. The intensity in her gaze sat wrong with him. 

At last, Claire looked up and met his gaze but only for a moment before turning to Geillis and declaring, “He’s gone.” There was a long beat before Geillis screamed and threw herself to the floor beside Claire, theatrically weeping over Arthur Duncan’s body. Claire glanced to Jamie again before bending and closing the dead man’s eyes. Jamie pushed through and helped her to stand. 

“I’m going to need something to calm Geillis,” she said quietly. “Will you go to the kitchen and ask Mrs. Fitz to fetch the distilled valerian root from my surgery? I’ll also need some tea to put it in. I’ll stay with Geillis.”

Jamie nodded but then felt Claire’s hand on his arm, holding him there a moment longer. She leaned in and whispered low enough that only Jamie would hear, “He didn’t choke; he was poisoned.”

The food in Jamie’s stomach turned to stone but he simply nodded again and made his exit toward the kitchens as subtle as possible. Once he was away from the great hall, he sped to a jog. 

Mrs. Fitz took one look at him in the doorway and set aside the desert she’d been preparing, wiped her hands on her apron, and crossed to him asking, “What is’t?”

He glanced to the kitchen maids, distracted by his arrival, and informed her of the fiscal’s death and Claire’s request. After crossing herself and muttering a quick prayer under her breath, Mrs. Fitz hastened to the short hall that ended with Claire’s surgery. 

“Tea,” he said to a passing kitchen maid. “Can ye brew a bit of tea for me?”

A young woman curtseyed and scurried to fulfill the request. Jamie wandered after Mrs. Fitz but turned back when he heard her talking to herself about poor Arthur Duncan in the surgery as she searched for the valerian root. She had known the man far longer than he, though not particularly well. Still it didn’t seem right to intrude upon her privacy in those first moments of surprise and grief. 

The silence in the kitchen had quickly faded as the kitchen maids began to speculate and gossip about the interruption and its cause. 

He heard an infant’s familiar cry and the lass, Laoghaire, sush him. 

“Someone’s ill then,” he caught one of the other lasses guessing. “Why else would yer gran go to the surgery?”

“I dinna care what’s happened,” Laoghaire said in frustration. “What I want is something that will quiet the bairn.”

“Whose is he? I saw yer gran watchin’ him earlier.”

“Dinna ken truly but I ken for sure he isna Mistress Beauchamp’s, though she’s taken him for hers,” Laoghaire responded with obvious resentment. “She’s taken other’s for herself before as didna rightly belong to her.” 

“I heard she found the lad when he was near to death,” another voice spoke up. “Doesna seem so wrong to me—her bein’ the healer and all.” 

Laoghaire scoffed. “It certainly isna  _ right _ .”

Jamie had heard enough. He strolled back into the kitchen, which fell silent once again, save for the baby’s despondent cries. 

Mrs. Fitz was bustling back down the hall from the surgery. 

“Here ye are then,” she said, offering the bottle she’d finally located. 

“And the tea as well,” a maid said, holding out a kettle with a cloth wrapped around the bottom. 

“Thank ye. Laoghaire…” he called to her. She smiled at him and hurried forward despite the red-faced baby in her arms and his increasingly distressed cries. 

“What is it, Jamie?”

“I want ye to help yer gran wi’ the things my wife sent me to fetch,” he told her. “I ken the Mackenzie will need yer gran for other things when she reaches the hall but Mistress Fraser will need yer help calming Mistress Duncan and getting her back to the surgery. Let Claire know I’ve taken the lad and will be sure the surgery is ready.” 

Before Laoghaire could react, Jamie had reached out and taken the crying baby from her arms, bouncing him gently and resting him against his shoulder. 

“I’ve got ye, lad. Hush now,” he murmured, gently swaying. 

The baby’s cries quieted to a whimper and Mrs. Fitz addressed her granddaughter.

“Come Laoghaire. We’re needed by the Mackenzie. Dinna dally.”

Laoghaire accepted the hot kettle of tea and followed Mrs. Fitz out of the kitchen. Jamie retreated to the safety of the surgery with a quieting Lambert helping him to keep tight hold of the disgust surging through his veins. 

If he’d only suspected Laoghaire was behind the illwish Claire had found before, there was no further room for doubt in his mind. He tried to recall his interactions with the lass that could have led her to think she had any claim to him but there was nothing as clear to him as the moments he’d managed to steal with Claire before the fateful trip to gather the rents. He’d taken a beating for her but that should make her feel indebted to him, not the other way around. Was it Laoghaire he’d kissed when he’d been burning for Claire or was that the other fair lass in the kitchens? He wasn’t inclined to venture back to look at the remaining staff and check. 

“Dinna listen to that lass,” he crooned to the baby nuzzling into his neck. “She’s doesna ken what she speaks of. You belong to Claire now as much as I do. I see it in the way ye are wi’ her—completely under her power and ye wouldna have it any other way.” He grinned and shifted the baby into the crook of his arm so they could look each other in the eye. “If ye belong to Claire now and what’s mine is hers and hers mine in the eyes of God… then I suppose ye belong to me too.” 

The baby blinked up at him, his tongue poking from between his lips as he watched Jamie with grey eyes. 

The child would never resemble Claire or himself physically… but there were other ways the child could be shaped to their likenesses, ways that went just as deep if not deeper. And it felt good to hold the child warm in his arms, felt right. He’d already told Claire it didn’t matter to him that the boy wasn’t theirs by blood and that it didn’t bother him that they might never have children of their own, but until listening the Laoghaire talk about Claire and the baby that way, he hadn’t felt that possessiveness and pride he’d seen in Claire from the moment she returned with the baby. It was stronger than he’d expected. 

The baby fell asleep and Jamie held him a few moments longer before settling him into the makeshift cradle in the corner. 

Claire and Laoghaire appeared a few minutes later guiding Geillis Duncan between them to the bed. As soon as she was settled, Jamie pulled Claire to him to see she was all right. She trembled in his arms, sighing as he kissed her forehead.

“The baby?” she blinked and asked. 

Jamie turned them so Claire could see Lambert sleeping in the corner. Claire’s hold on Jamie tightened as she sighed and buried her deeper into his chest. He caught a brief glimpse of Laoghaire glaring at Claire as she turned to leave the surgery but the sight only caused him to hold Claire tighter. 

He wouldn’t tell Claire about Laoghaire. Not yet, at least. A small secret, not a lie. There were more pressing things to worry about than a lass’ petty jealousy. 

“Mistress Duncan is sleeping then?”

“She’ll be out for a few hours yet. They’re moving the body now and making arrangements,” Claire explained. 

“Earlier ye said the fiscal died of…” He glanced to Geillis on the cot and stopped. “Do ye ken who would’ve wanted that?”

“I don’t know for certain… but I have my suspicions,” she informed him. “Later though, when the evening is behind us and we go back to our rooms.”


	4. The Banishment

Jamie held Claire close in his arms through the night and they quietly made love when she returned to bed after the baby woke for his two o’clock feeding. 

Claire drifted slowly toward consciousness as the room began to glow with the light of dawn. She felt the solid warmth of him at her back, the press of his thighs behind hers, his arm wrapped around hers and his hand trapped between her breasts. It was impossible not to rub her arse against his cock as she arched and stretched, preparing her body for the coming day. 

She grinned as he roused to her incidental—and then fully intentional—touches. His hand snaked its way from between her breasts down between her legs, making her squeak. It didn’t take long before she had rolled onto her stomach and raised herself on her forearms, Jamie behind her with his knee pushing her legs open so he could bury himself in the ready warmth of her. Each slow stroke drew a louder moan from her lips so she muffled the noise in the pillow to keep from waking the baby. 

The throbbing pulse of Jamie thrusting into her reverberated through her core and made the blood pound in her ears. When he paused and cursed, Claire lifted herself from the pillow enough to beg, “Don’t stop.”

“I wasna plannin’ to,” he growled before resuming at a punishing pace. Claire bit the pillow as she came, her knees and arms giving out under the wave of her release and the weight of Jamie’s the moment just before of her. 

She wanted him to roll to the side again, pulling her with him and cuddling with her while their breathing and pulses returned to normal, but after a few deep breaths pressing her into the mattress, he had thrown back the covers and sat on the edge of the bed pulling on his breeks. 

Claire tried to move, to pull him back into the bed but only succeeded in turning her head to face him. Her limbs were delightfully limp and unresponsive. Jamie grinned down at her as he bent over the bed to kiss her cheek, her forehead, her lips briefly and then he pulled the bedclothes up to cover her naked form. 

There was an insistent pounding on their bedroom door, loud enough for the baby to whimper in his makeshift cradle. It was Murtagh from the muffled hollering of Jamie’s name and he must have been at it for several minutes. 

Jamie stooped to lift Lambert from his blankets and tuck the baby against his bare chest before crossing the last few feet to open the door. 

“Ye’d best have a good reason for pulling me away from my marriage bed and waking my son,” Jamie tried to say with a grumble in his voice but he couldn’t keep the grin from his face.

Though Murtagh’s embarrassment shone in the redness of his cheeks, his expression remained a somber one. 

“Yer uncle wants to see ye,” he informed Jamie with a heavy tone. “Colum. Ye’d best leave the bairn wi’ yer wife and make haste ‘fore the Mackenzie sees fit to punish ye for yer tardiness.”

Jamie cursed and momentarily tried to hand the baby to Murtagh who skillfully dodged the attempt. 

“Bring him here, Jamie,” Claire said from the bed, struggling to sit up without dropping the bedclothes and making Murtagh even more uncomfortable.

Jamie passed Lambert off and kissed Claire again before scrambling about the room to find his shirt and put on his stockings and boots.

“D’ye ken what Colum wants?” he asked.

“I ken he’s worried about what Arthur Duncan’s death will mean for the Duke’s visit,” Murtagh said keeping his back to Claire though she managed to use the baby’s weight on her chest to help hold the blankets in place as she leaned back into the pillows. “And he’s none too happy wi’ how Dougal’s taken his wife’s death, ravin’ about the Great Hall one day but no even thinking to see to his bairns as just lost their mother.”

Jamie frowned, visibly nervous. “I’m no exactly in Colum’s good graces myself, just now.”

“No, lad,” Murtagh agreed with a brief but pointed glance to Claire and the baby. “Ye’re not.”

With a heavy and resigned sigh, Jamie rose and ran his hands over his face and through his hair. “Keepin’ him waiting willna help matters.”

“If there’s anything I can help with,” Claire offered from her spot on the bed, “just send word down to my surgery. I can give Colum another massage if his back and legs are especially bothersome.”

Jamie nodded and he said, “I’ll keep that in mind,” but he knew from Claire’s half-hearted smile that even she understood how the offer might be misinterpreted and backfire. He leaned over to kiss her thoroughly and lightly brushed his hand over the baby’s head.

Then Jamie left with Murtagh in his wake and Claire was alone in the room with Lambert fidgeting in preparation for proper fussing. 

Claire managed to dress herself and change and feed Lambert before bringing him down to the kitchens where Mrs. Fitz had something set aside for her breakfast. She figured she was in for a long morning of killing time in the surgery until Jamie finally found an opportunity to seek her out and let her know what it was Colum wanted. As she ground herbs while Lambert napped and set up infusions to distill so she could play with him when he woke, Claire tried to work out what Colum could have wanted with Jamie. 

Perhaps it was news that the Duke had said something about Jamie’s petition and the efforts to clear his name. Or Colum might have had word from the couple that had left Lambert in the woods. She hoped it wasn’t legal trouble, especially trouble  _ she _ had brought upon them. 

But Claire didn’t have to wait long. Willie knocked on the door to the surgery and barged in before Claire could invite him to enter. He was breathless and clutching a stitch in his side.

“Jamie asked me to have ye meet him in the courtyard right away,” he panted. “Ye dinna have much time ‘fore he’ll be gone.”

“Gone?” Claire gasped, swinging Lambert into her arms and causing him to squeak as the movement woke him from his nap. “Where’s he going? Why?”

Willie shook his head and instead urged her to hurry. “He’ll delay as long as he can but Colum wants them out of his sight by midday.”

“Who?” She started for the stairs and Willie fell into step behind her.

“Dougal’s being sent to his estate to pay his respects to his wife and he’s to stay there till the Mackenzie summons him back to Leoch. Jamie and a few others are to accompany him and be sure he keeps to Colum’s wishes,” Willie explained.

“You’re not going?”

“No, ma’am. Jamie, Rupert, and Angus. I dinna ken who’s in greater fury over it, Dougal or Jamie,” Willie said. “Though Dougal’s bein’ more vocal about his displeasure, Jamie’s anger is quieter but perhaps runs all the deeper for it.”

Claire suspected Willie was right and when she spotted Jamie fiddling with Donas’ harness while the others climbed into their saddles, she thought it might be that his anger was tinged with fear. The relief that she saw wash over him when he spotted her was short lived and he crushed her to him as soon as she was in reach. Lambert squeaked in Claire’s arms and Jamie’s hold on them loosened. 

“Is it because of me?” Claire asked quietly. “Is he sending you away because he’s upset with me over the baby?”

“Nay lass,” Jamie assured her. “He’s sending me away because he’s upset with  _ me _ . Ye’re as high in his esteem as anyone English has a right to be. But he’s no happy it’s me as married ye to keep ye safe and he’s no happy to see me so… He’s no happy that my ideas for who ought to lead Clan Mackenzie after Himself are so different from his own.”

Claire felt tears pricking in her eyes as the knowledge that Jamie was leaving sank in—leaving and with no notion of when he’d return. She wouldn’t have his warmth and reassuring presence at her side while they dined or in their bed. He wouldn’t be there to ask her about the injuries and ailments she’d treated during her day or to tell her stories of his day in the stables or the intricate and delicate histories of Leoch and its residents. She wouldn’t have him there to help guide her through the treacherous waters of Mackenzie Clan politics. 

“You’ll be careful, won’t you?” she requested, feeling foolish even as she said it. 

“Aye,” he promised, “and ye’ll do the same? Murtagh will stay behind with ye to make sure ye’re safe but dinna go testing his patience or abilities. Do all ye can to keep out of the way and out of trouble.”

She started to roll her eyes but only sighed and blinked, pushing the tears away. 

“I ken she’s been a friend to ye but I dinna trust Geillis—no after what ye said ye suspect her of doin’ to Arthur,” he whispered. “And Colum knows about her and Dougal.”

“And he’s not happy about it,” Claire guessed, shifting Lambert in her arms.

“He’s not,” Jamie confirmed.

“Finish yer goodbyes and let’s be on our way,” Angus groaned as his horse paced in the courtyard.

Jamie kissed Claire, long and deep. As he started to pull away, she took a step closer to keep him against her just one moment longer. When he finally succeeded in breaking the kiss, he leaned his forehead against hers, his eyes closed. 

“Claire… I…”

“I love you, Jamie,” Claire whispered, surprising even herself, both with the words and how much she meant them. 

Jamie’s face slowly broke into a delighted grin. His eyes shone as he whispered back, “And I love  _ you _ , Claire.”

Relieved, Claire smiled and nodded. “We’ll be waiting for you,” she warned him, shifting Lambert once again as even his small weight grew heavy in her tired arms. 

“I’ll come back for ye, I promise.” With a final brief kiss for her forehead, Jamie moved to mount Donas and Claire stepped back bouncing the baby in her arms as she watched him turn and follow the others out of the yard. A few minutes later, Claire felt a hand on her shoulder and turned. 

Murtagh stood there with a sympathetic frown of resignation on his face and nodded for her to return inside. 

* * *

Claire was numb for the rest of the day. She couldn’t let herself think about Jamie and what they’d said to one another because immediately on its heels would be thoughts of Frank and the guilt and shame of having… what? Given up on him? Moved on? And who could tell how long it would be before Jamie was allowed to return to Leoch. She might not know everything about the ways of Highland Scots yet, but Jamie had told her enough of his family’s history to know that Colum was capable of bearing a grudge for a long time.

Focusing on Lambert kept her busy and she made it through the rest of that day and then the entirety of the next, and the one after that. Every so often she caught sight of Murtagh watching her or pretending not to but remaining near enough at hand for her to know he’d taken Jamie’s request to protect her seriously, whatever he thought of the situation. 

The murmurs and whispers about the castle that had been left in the wake of the War Chief and his companions began to quiet after a week. The Duke’s visit was coming to a close and Mrs. Fitz was busy preparing a farewell feast to rival the first. To the relief of everyone, the second feast was celebrated without fatalities. 

After eleven days, Claire stopped counting. Mrs. Fitz assured her that Colum would summon him back soon even if he wasn’t ready to forgive and summon Dougal.

“The Mackenzie’s too high an opinion of his nephew,” she said. “He’ll forgive him for being a stubborn Fraser and remember he wants the lad’s keen mind about him here.”

Claire stood near a steaming pot with Lambert in her arms. He leaned into her, his eyes tired but his breathing better thanks to the steam. Though he hadn’t been feverish he’d developed a cough, and Claire had recently advised two of Mrs. Fitz’s staff on how to treat their children’s cases of croup. She also found it comforting to have Mrs. Fitz’s sympathetic reassurances about Jamie. 

Laoghaire came into the kitchen and rather than approach her grandmother, she crossed to Claire and held out a note. 

“This came for ye.” 

Mrs. Fitz took Lambert from her arms and for a brief moment Claire thought it might be from Jamie. But it was only from Geillis, a short note saying she was ill and would Claire please come to attend her.

Claire sighed and reached for the baby. “Come with me, please, Laoghaire.” She headed for the steps to her surgery, Laoghaire a few paces behind her. “I’m going to need you to take something into the village,” she told the young woman.

“But… she wants you to go to her,” Laoghaire objected as Claire settled Lambert on the cot in the corner and began to assemble a care package for Geillis. 

Claire started and looked critically at Laoghaire. “You read Mistress Duncan’s note to me?”

Laoghaire blushed. “She told me what was in it,” she lied. 

Claire didn’t have time or patience for scolding Laoghaire. “Regardless… I cannot go to see her today but I suspect I know what ails her.” It was a bit late in Geillis’ pregnancy for morning sickness but she likely suffered some nausea thanks to her heightened sense of smell. Claire added some ginger root to the small basket on her work table. Fatigue, aching joints, and various forms of digestive discomfort would be additional symptoms of advancing pregnancy. She added licorice root, anise, peppermint, and a few other supplies that might be running low in Geillis’ stores. 

“Here,” she held the basket out for Laoghaire to take. “Let her know I’ll try to be by in a few days’ time to see how she gets on. She’ll know what to do with all of these in the mean time.”

“I’m no takin’ that to her,” Laoghaire insisted, crossing her arms over her chest. “You can take it yerself. It’s what she asked. Besides, how can be so sure ye know what it is she needs help with if ye dinna see her yerself?”

Claire rolled her eyes and took the note Laoghaire had given her, opening it and adding a quick response below Geillis’ name. Then, she crossed to retrieve Lambert from the cot, apologizing to him for waking him as she set him to rest against her shoulder. Tucking the note into the basket, she took it in hand and did what she could to storm out of the surgery without further disturbing Lambert. 

“Is Tammas around?” Claire asked Mrs. Fitz. “I need someone to take something to Mistress Duncan in the village.”

Mrs. Fitz looked to where Laoghaire hovered near the hallway having followed Claire back to the kitchen. “Laoghaire can find him for ye—can’t ye lass,” Mrs. Fitz addressed her granddaughter with the authority of an elder used to imposing her will and having it heeded. 

“If ye need some’at fetched into the village,” Murtagh said from a corner near the hearth where he’d tucked himself away, unseen. “I’ll take it for ye,” he offered. “I’ve a need to stretch my legs.”

“Thank you, Murtagh,” Claire sighed with relief, handing him the basket. “Don’t linger if she’s too ill. And come find me as soon as you return.”

With a nod, Murtagh left. 

“Do ye plan to just stand there, lass,” Mrs. Fitz addressed Laoghaire, “or will ye help with the Mackenzie’s supper?”

Laoghaire glared at Claire as she pulled herself from the wall and went in search of an apron. Claire took the opportunity to slip away, back to her surgery with Lambert.

That’s where Murtagh found her several hours later. He looked haunted and paranoid.

“Is Geillis all right?” Claire asked, worried. She set aside the mortar and pestle she’d been using to grind herbs. 

“She said she didna send the note.”

“Then who did?” 

“Someone wanted ye arrested as a witch, I suspect,” Murtagh responded. “They came for Mistress Duncan not three minutes after I arrived wi’ the basket ye sent. She’s been taken to the thieve’s hole to await trial.”


End file.
